


from this day

by couldusesomebrassknuckles (ralndown)



Series: we happy few [2]
Category: Band of Brothers, The Pacific (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Hockey, Angst, But also, Non-Linear Narrative, Panic Attacks, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, ohohO!, really - Freeform, yea
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2019-06-23 16:04:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15609939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ralndown/pseuds/couldusesomebrassknuckles
Summary: Lewis Nixon has a lot of regrets, but at least his chest is flat.





	from this day

**Author's Note:**

> but Jay? part one??? Isn't even?? remotely finished???  
> yeah yeah I know but that's irrelevant and I'm impatient
> 
> This is the first companion piece to We Few and the second instalment of my We Happy Few series but it's more parallel to the first part than it is adjacent so it really doesn't matter what order they're read in. Basically, same universe, same idea, completely separate plot (for now)
> 
> un-beta'd per usual

 

The absolutely cliche little bell on the door of the shop chimed to announce that a customer had entered and ended Lewis' peaceful morning. He'd sworn since he was twelve years old that he would get rid of that wretched rusty thing, and yet, almost three years into owning the shop for himself, it was still there. Groggily, he plucked his knuckles from his cheek and made himself presentable enough to greet what was, to his memory, the first customer all day.

 

"Morning."

 

The customer, a young woman around 18 with short curly blonde hair, looked puzzled for a moment but quickly recovered and corrected with a smile, "It's afternoon."

 

"My bad. What can I get for you?"

 

"Just a Mocha, please." She had a soft smile, like she was afraid to be over eager about it, and it reminded Lewis of…

 

"SHIFTY!"

 

There was a soft clack of what was probably the boy jumping and the flap of a book falling to the ground. "Sir?"

 

"Customer."

 

After his young intern fixed the girl her coffee, Lewis had Shifty make him a fresh latte and left the boy to man the counter while he took his signature seat in the back corner of the cafe.

 

His parents had surprised Lewis with the deed of the cafe on his 19th birthday as both a way of saying ‘please get your shit together’ and ‘we accept you.’ Which, in the grandest scheme of things, could have been significantly worse. At least they were still talking to him, unlike…

 

Things just kinda went downhill for Lewis after graduation. Like ‘90 degrees straight down with no bottom in sight’ downhill. His best friend since, like, forever moved away right after Lewis came out to him and had hardly tried to contact him since. With that on top of losing his scholarship to Yale by flunking one of his exams, it had looked like Lewis’ future was all but in the garbage. Luckily, he was able to pull himself together enough to redo the exam and actually graduate high school, but he still hadn’t gotten back to where he should have been. Truthfully, without the cafe to run, Lewis has no idea where he might have ended up. But that’s a sob story for another day.

 

In his corner with his steaming, perfectly frothed latte (thank you, Shifty), Lewis unlocked his phone and opened up Twitter. Scrolling through the handfuls of memes and political comments, he came to a certain headline that caught his eye:

 

**Winters Coming Home - NHL.com - Richard Winters signs five-year contract with hometown team Philadelphia Flyers**

 

He didn’t even notice that he’d choked on his coffee until his poor intern was at his side, eyes the size of saucers, ready to call the paramedics if need be.

 

Just then, with the perfect timing he somehow always had, in walked Lewis’ roommate and weird sort-of best friend of two years, Joseph Liebgott. Lieb, with the crisis-sensor of a protective mother, was over in a second, holding Lewis by the shoulders and getting him to breathe.

 

“Sir? Are you alright?”

 

Shifty, ever the angel, though he had great intentions, was more than Lewis could handle at the moment. Luckily, reading his mind, Joe waved him off before he could accidentally yell at the innocent boy. He had only hired Darrell a handful of months ago and hadn’t yet drunkenly spilled out his sob story at two in the afternoon, so this panic attack was definitely above his pay grade.

“It’s alright Shift, go take a break.”

 

Flipping Lewis’ phone so that the screen faced the table, Joe began to distract him by talking about his day.

 

His crazy roommate, who had walked into Lewis’ life one night at an ungodly hour covered in Lord knows what and just never left, was what some people called a vandal but what Joe liked to call a ‘Guerilla Artist.’ He wrote and drew things people didn't necessarily like on things he wasn't necessarily supposed to write or draw on. He also worked at the cafe, but that was more of an afterthought. He had only received one vandal charge to date, which was why Lieb showed up at Nixon’s in the first place, how, nobody truly knows. Most of his ‘work’ combats the anti-semitic and homophobic propaganda that likes to pop up randomly, so most of the locals consider him somewhat of a hero and wouldn’t turn him into the police if they were offered a life supply of free groceries. Okay, maybe not that well-loved but, enough.

 

“I met the most curious pigeon.”

 

“Yea?”

 

“He was all over me! Nearly covered him in paint, the poor guy…”

 

Lewis listened to Joe go on and tried to focus on the details of his friend’s hands. Today, they were spattered lightly with deep red flecks of paint, and if he didn’t know Joe, he’d think it was blood. Hell, knowing Joe, there’s no reason it couldn’t be blood. Except blood didn’t dry like that, and the few drops of blue that covered the edge of his left pointer finger blended with the other colour in a way that only paint can.

 

“Nix?” Joe’s voice had grown soft, panic draining from his body just as well as Lewis’ had and was back to staring intently at his friend. “Better?”

 

“Better.”

 

“Should we talk about it?”

 

Lewis took a deep breath before he turned his phone back over, opened up the article, and handed the device over to Joe.

 

“Dick’s coming back.”

 

* * *

 

 

 

_4 MONTHS EARLIER_

 

_2 CGY - 1 PHI_

 

“Fuck you!”

 

“I said you suck!”

 

“I said fuck you.”

 

Grovelling like a wet cat, Calgary forward Bob Leckie stomped into the penalty box and slammed the door. He dropped himself onto the small bench next to the unfazed attendant and whacked his stick against the class in a grand flurry of frustration. The hooking penalty was announced and he watched from the box as the puck was dropped in the away end and his team fought to stay ahead.

 

It was already clear that they weren’t making the playoffs. There were only two games left in the regular season and they were still eight points behind the second wildcard spot. Even if they won both games and Minnesota lost both of theirs, it just wasn’t happening. While Bob was looking forward to a long summer of recovering from what he keeps denying as a fractured ankle and spending time with his girlfriend Vera, he had yet to make the playoffs once in his career and was growing very frustrated.

Across the ice, on the away bench with the rest of his team, Leckie noticed one of his teammates staring into the crowd like you would at a favourite book. ( Because yes, in fact, Bob Leckie the angry hockey guy reads books. He also went to college, thank you very much. ) 

It was his fellow sophomore, Dick Winters.

 

Doing a little mental research, Leckie remembered both where they were and where Dick usually spent his summers. Philadelphia. Though Bob hated the team with most if not all of his guts, he could see the appeal of the city. Sorta. But the look in the humble ginger’s eyes was more than one of homesickness, it was loss. Not usually one to get all gushy with feelings, his own or anybody else's, Bob turned his attention back to the game. The timer on his penalty ran out and he was back out on the ice, quickly gliding across and hopping over the bench and letting a new line onto the ice. He watched the red 82 on Winters' back retreat as he skated away from the bench and locked what he had seen away for a time when it might matter.

 

**Author's Note:**

> ooooo I love crying and being sad :-)
> 
> I literally told myself I wasn't gonna include the Pacific in this AU but welp. 
> 
>  
> 
> \- the cafe is definitely called Nixon Nitration Works for the irony (and reference points) but locals just call it Nixon's  
> \- Shifty is a sweet boy and will get more character in later chapters  
> \- ironic that when writing for actual hockey rpf I don't write gameplay but in a separate fandom I decide to go ham  
> \- thats just how it be  
> \- if you didn't know, sophomores in hockey are players recently out of their rookie year(s) and usually close to the end of their Entry Level Contract. at least thats what I know them as. ive only been invested in hockey for a couple years its very likely that i still get things wrong
> 
>  
> 
> come visit me on tumblr @ couldusesomebrassknuckles if u wanna yell or want some spicy inside details


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